The Haven
by death-in-the-orchard
Summary: When knights fought and died for their lords centuries ago in England, the knight Abraham Helsing created a haven for men who lived lives of taboo. One night a 'demon boy' arrived and discoverd the haven's secrets. How will he threaten their peace?


Like the shadow of a black-bird flitting before the face of the sun, interrupting the steady stream of yellow rays that splash upon the earth below, he moved through the sunlight, melting into the shadows cast by the forest of birch trees. Rags streaming behind him like tattered wings, he flew, searching for a place settled by people. He came upon one such place, but it was as the sun was falling out of favor with the sky, being pushed aside to allow the moon to pay homage to the heavens and gaze down at the world below. It saw the black-bird dispersing and loosing form with the long shadows of setting daylight, and it observed the direction the shadow was headed, flying over a truculent moat to reach the manor it protected. Through the means of some crevice or cranny, the black-bird swiftly entered the house, hiding from the eyes of its occupants as bare feet sent the dark, ratty shadow darting about the interior, relatively unfamiliar with the layout of manors like this one. The manor he had happened upon was forty feet long with additional solaces, a kitchen, a privy in the yard with the massive baking oven, and a tower constructed of grey stone that had never had to repel the arrows of a lord that coveted this land. No one had ever looked upon the humble hill with eyes of greed.

Sunset arrived and twilight developed quickly, the moon beginning to rise, hoping to become the supreme lord of the night once the sun descended. The bird, upon finding an empty hall paved with flagstone, flit to a door that seemed promising, hopefully containing chests of wealth or food. The door opened with the shadow's hand, exposing the room lit by the mature light coming in through the high window at the wall that faced the dimming sun. The flushed color of intimacy, darkened by the hue of the light expiring over the tree covered horizon, filled the shadow's vision. He had no mind to fly away, stunned by the actions of the two occupants in the bed. His horrified stupor was not broken until one of the forms, whose partner had spied the trespasser and had given a yell, branded his memory with an expression of twisted rage and fear the like he had never before seen. It was like fire and ice that could rival one another, both emotions that could inspire panic, and so, actions that would exaggerate whatever punishment the intruder had truly earned. The tattered and worn bird had witnessed something forbidden to his eyes. With this unwanted knowledge and the premise that the loud cries and clumsy, frantic movements of the forms that now tumbled or leapt from the bed to pursue him, gave him reason to believe that bodily harm awaited him if those hands were to capture his weakened body, he flew down the hall that rang with a growing cacophony of voices. His heart hammering from shock and dismay, pressing on his need for food and drink, there was no plan for escape. The way out was forgotten. Too many thoughts and needs for a weakened body to sustain, the shadow's ability to react to changes in his environment were hindered and his power of foresight in his decisions was reduced to nothing with his instinctual flight.

The shadow swung around a sharp corner, ready to throw himself through any window or open door he could see. Instead he saw nothing but a large, dark wall. The intruder ran full long into the blocky fist, held out before a servant's body, ready to receive the slighter form. The hairy fist dented the empty gut, forcing air and conscious thought from the bird-like being, who, once crumpled on the flagstones, lost all capability of awareness when a leather shoe crashed into his hair, a strike that left him in helpless unconsciousness.

The night washed over the land, consuming the world when the sun's last stand of resistance left a streak of blood to ooze over the jagged horizon, soon to be lapped up by the hungry darkness. All were now confined in the abysmal night with the loss of their freedom and sight.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

A douse of chilling water ripped the now soggy being from his mindless state and left him blinking and coughing, shivers racking his body with the icy needles that scourged his nerves, infecting his thin frame with cold. Startling red eyes opened to the man that was crouched in front of the trespasser, the man's mouth crinkled with a frown. The red eyes shook for a moment, overwhelmed by emotion before they shut themselves off from the world, giving up at the clank of the wooden bucket hitting the stone flooring followed by the drawn out shriek of the great sword that was hefted from the floor by the man, its jeweled hilt glistening in the torchlight. With the moan of wind that cut over the shape of the tower that had become his prison, the pale figure curled, bound by rusted chains and chaffing cuffs that convinced him that escape was impossible. So red eyes shut and the pale face tucked into his shoulder in the semblance of a bird about to sleep. For him, he foresaw it as an eternal slumber. Cold, exhausted from a strenuous journey, and starved to the extent that his mind was imagining the scent of foot, the pale skinned form gave in, too worn to fight for his life. He was ready to sleep forever.

But life still had a grasp on the human, tugging on his senses with the lulling scent that promised sustenance. The boy's mind revitalized with a passion for life, eyes opening with a wild movement of rags and rattling chains. His hungry stomach yowled with pleasure and want, yearning for the platter of food that sat on the stones by the sword bearing man. Matted, ebony hair dragged over the caked filth and layers of dust on the floor while the boy that had shed the form of a flitting shadow to hold the true substance of his identity, attempted to catch the edge of the hunk of stale white bread with his teeth, failing to do more than throw his panting breath to warm the platter and blow away a few small crumbs that had been shed by the bread. Oblivious of everything outside this source of food, the outstretched neck did not feel the vulnerability it should have when the great sword moved closer to the precious veins and bones it housed.

With eyes the color of the clear and endless sky when it possessed the sun, the man who laid the flat of his sword over his knees saw the chained human being with some developing pity that came with his understanding of the motivation that had driven this boy, whose face was too young to grow a beard, to sneak into his home and, now, show such desperation that cast all of his dignity into the wind. The boy threw himself shamelessly against the constricting pull of the chains in an attempt to reach the bread. The scene explained the nature of the thief better than words could have, for no lie was exhibited, no act, no deception was observed, though corruption had become so common in these times when beggars would take generosity and steal from the noble hand as well, a time when pastors would gorge themselves without a thought to their obligation to fast and to abstain from succumbing to gluttony while hunger persisted in the caved stomachs of children. Little was to be trusted, except for the word of God, but the boy's display of need gave his honest narration of the story behind his appearance in the man's manor.

The sword hit the stones, paralyzing the thief with dilated pupils swiveling to the blade and to the man, suspecting an attack. The food beckoned, and the boy discreetly strained his neck to reach it, soon taking his eyes from his captor. A hand pushed the wooden platter to the boy and drew away when shaking, shackled hands were able to pluck up the piece of bread. The frail fingers stuffed the bread into the boy's mouth and he began to chew furiously, choking and gasping for air around the food as he stuffed as much as he could into his mouth whenever he managed to swallow something, beyond the ability to show restraint.

The blue-eyed man with golden hair trimmed short for a time of war, watched the white creature that was somehow still human, devour the hard bread, crunching on it with strong, well-formed teeth while covering his discolored rags with crumbs. Head of the manor and its occupants, the man was deciding upon the boy's fate. He identified the youth as being a cast off bastard or whore's son who had received the blunt of God wrath so that he had been born with the unfortunate appearance of a demon. But he had been born with the devil's temptation in his own flesh as well. His skin was so white without a permanent blemish or scar besides dirt and a few shallow scratches, that it made the boy quite fair and granted him the slightest link in appearance to a noble, so unlike the sun bronzed serfs that worked the blonde man's land.

Lord Helsing, a knight who served the Duke of Lancaster as one among many paying the third prince tribute and loyalty, owned vast tracts of fertile land, some of which were covered in forest, and two manors. The manor on top of the humble hill, the one he was currently occupying, was small, half the size of his main manor that possessed more luxuries and presided over one hundred and twenty serfs while the smaller manor lorded over sixty, counting women and children alike. The roof under which he now crouched to watch the hungry thief, was his hunting lodge, and around it grew a thick forest that served as his hunting preserve. He hunted and killed pheasants that had been cultivated through the years, as well as wild boars and stags and other game, used for meat. The lodge was his retreat from the Lady Helsing and their brew of grown children, most of whom had moved out to live in their own growing families. Except for part of spring, and later, part of summer, the hunting lodge was home to Lord Helsing's bailiff and a few servants. It was a male sanctuary, and all outsiders, female or male, were prohibited unless gifted with the worthy approval of Lord Helsing.

The knight's clothes were assembled from blue satin with a lining of fur, this time squirrel, though he was known to wear much finer furs. His colors were blue and gold while his crest bore four ravens sectioned off to be in four separate quadrants by the branches of a silver cross. With his father having been a knight, and his mother, a Lady, and as the eldest child with only one younger brother and two younger sisters, Abraham Helsing had inherited most of his father's wealth and land. The Lord performed well in tournaments and displayed bravery in battle, having earned a reputation as an honorable knight who abided by the code of chivalry. Helsing lived in comfort and contentment in mind and body, however, solely because of the existence of this second estate where he had created for himself a haven to protect his freedom and happiness.

The boy, who had finished the bread, held with the knight so unnerving a gaze that the man doubted the age he had determined the boy to be and did not know if the pale being was indeed human, for a moment. Fingers tapped on the blade, releasing dull sounds into the chamber while Helsing observed the white features, noting for the first time the blue and red bruise that crept to the edge of the boy's hairline, probably from the kick he had received. A few crumbs clung to the smooth cheeks and chin, having been unwilling to be eaten or fall on the floor. The fingers continued to tap on the blade until Helsing's signet ring gave off a sharp sound and the flat palm of the man's hand patted the sound away gently, as if consoling his sword after its abuse.

Helsing's voice was deepened as he spoke now, watching the boy's dilated pupils that betrayed the lingering fear the youth possessed. "What is your name?" It was not gently asked, but that was only for the current circumstances of the conversation.

The crimson eyes, possessed by some curse or demon, stared like a cornered, antagonized animal. Nothing was said in response to the question, throwing shadows upon Helsing's expression, making it grim.

"I do not know you. Are you some beggar that had tried his hand at thievery? Are you an urchin or serf that has forsaken the duty owed to his lord?" With the staring silence that showed no response or recognition to his words, the lord's temper flared, his voice rising to echo up to the wooden beams and stone above them. "God's nails! Tell me what you are or I will have nothing but ill things to think of you! Or are you some demon or evil spirit that has come to sow the seeds of misfortune in my land? You come to rob me of my possessions or kill me in my sleep? What then, have you to say? Speak up! You are fortunate to have this chance to save yourself!"

The chains rattled when the skinny frame cringed back closer to the wall, round eyes with flaring, constricting irises staring fixatedly up at the man that suddenly stood at his full height, his long sword held by his side with a tight fist. At each fluctuation in the man's temper, and so in his volume, the boy would start and cower for protection when the sword's length flashed light when it moved with the man's passion.

"For your own sake, speak! Or I will kill you now!" With the roar or rage, the great sword rose over the man's head, angled to slash down upon the chained form with a prepared step of momentum taking Abraham closer to the boy. The white face twisted in terror, his mouth letting out a screech when he saw that the sword would fall on his head and split it.

"Nu! Nu! Vă rugăm să încetati!"

Lord Helsing stumbled back with a gasp, his sword coming down on only the air, now held ready in defense to the unearthly, dark spell the evil creature was screaming, pleading with his dark lord to be saved. Helsing was cold with fear, his feet retreating back to the door when the boy continued his plea with his red eyes bright with flecks of scarlet and shivers shaking his limbs.

"Te implor! Nu ştiu ce spui!"

The door was thrown open and clamoring steps echoed in the stairwell before the door shut with haste and the man descended the stairs with sweat beading on his face. One of his men met him with concern puckering his brow and agitating his nerves when he could not see how he might help his lord.

"My Lord! What ails you? Is it a demon? Is that decrepit a demon that has hurt you? …My Lord Helsing?" The dutiful and loyal man followed his lord through the manor, soon leaving it to stride across the yard to reach the stables. More alarm came to the servant's face when he saw the drawn sword reflecting moonlight while they walked through the darkness. Helsing's voice was strong when he called to the man sleeping in the hay by his horses.

"Gibbon! Ready a horse and go for the parson! Now! Get up and make haste!"

Unused to being spoken to this way by his compassionate lord, the man scrambled in a state of confusion to complete his lord's orders without inquiring the reason for the abrupt call. Lord Helsing left the stable with his other servant following his heels doggedly, full of anticipation and fear. Others were awakening with the clamor that was being made, and the curious ones came to investigate with uncharacteristic meekness, holding their silence when they saw their lord's state. While striding down the hall to return to the tower, Helsing turned on his servant, startling the young man who retreated in anxious cautiousness while wringing his small hands.

The vein in Abraham's neck throbbed, his heart having not slowed a beat since he had heard the spell the demon had tried to weave over him. He knew that his heart was racing, but he did not know that his eyes were narrowed in a fearsome glare, glowing with fire. "Edgar! Stop following me and make yourself useful! Get me Geoffrey! Wake him and tell him I wait for him in the tower stair!"

Stunned, the younger man hesitated, muted with blue-green eyes bulging in fear of some dawning calamity or other danger he was not accustomed to. He was no lion. He much preferred the peace he had lived in until this day and his twitching nerves could not conduct him properly until Helsing barked again.

"Go! I never knew you to be so daft! Go wake him, Edgar! Or should I have someone else go? Someone who is more willing to serve me?"

When the servant had run off with the proper earnestness, Helsing composed himself with longer breaths, pausing to pick out the sneaky faces that spied on him in the gloomy passages and shadows. He frowned at his men and waved his hand in dismissal to the two brown heads of hair. There was a russet tinge in the hair Helsing pointed to with a second thought. "Pieter, come…and will you tell Phillip that I have already given him his order to leave? Go to sleep, Phillip. This is none of your concern."

Phillip anxiously looked at Pieter, not desiring to separate when there appeared to be danger. Pleading eyes looked to his lord but saw no room for argument. With a soft nod, Pieter sent Phillip away as their lord had wanted, and then he himself followed the man at a brisk pace to the stairwell in the tower. When the door made of assembled planks creaked open to echo as the only sound hitting the stones of the curved walls, Helsing stopped briefly, suspicious of the quiet that had not been there when he had left. Pieter's brown eyes gazed about while demur steps brought him after his lord, using the moonlight from the gaps in the stone meant to be used by archers, to climb the stairs. When they saw a door, Lord Helsing stopped again, and there they waited until Helsing's bailiff, the older man who was called Geoffrey, arrived, and then still they waited for the presence of the parson who would bring the Holy power needed to face the demon they had captured and to combat his dark magic. Once assembled, Pieter, who had been fidgeting anxiously, was excused, replaced by the stronger stable master, Gibbon, who entered the high chamber with the knight, the bailiff, and the trembling parson who earned his pity.

The white creature with red eyes dancing with the light of fear and his shattering reason that crumbled in his helpless condition, stared at the assembly. His muttering froze the men. Helsing's forgotten sword, still unsheathed, pointed at the boy and the parson's unsteady hands clutched his rosary as he breathed a frantic prayer for strength and guidance. Geoffrey, the oldest man in this assembly with his grayed blonde hair, paled at the strange words but did not exhibit the fear that the parson shed in cold sweat that had once besieged Lord Helsing, though the knight's brow was now dry. The man that still had bits of hay discreetly hanging from his hair, gaped at the boy in dumb astonishment.

The boy muttered to himself, his voice shaking with emotion as he argued with no one and pleaded to the strangers. "Mai mult? Tu aduci mai multi barbati aici? Un om sfânt? Nu. Nu, lasă-mă să fie. Lasă-mă să plec! Te rog!" Open terror was shown to the men, but the boy's face warped with hate when they approached with the sword and the rosary, the round parson fumbling with prayers. Hell glowered with hot flames pouring from the boy's eyes. "Oh, da. Deci, tu să mă omori? Veţi mă omori? Exorciza mine? Te voi bantui! Te voi blestem! Ia sabia departe! De presă -mă de lanţurile mele, te câini! Laşilor! Laşilor! Laşi trebuie să mă omori decât? Nu! Nu! Nu voi lasa sa se intample!" Spittle flew and the boy writhed like something that was suffering, trying to free himself. The cuffs slit his wrists and now painted them with blood, carving shallow, bleeding ravines. "Nu! Nu! Nu!" The screams came and kicking legs flailed chains that limited the reach of the boy's legs. He was doing this to ward off Abraham's proximity, dreading the naked sword. "Nu! Nu!"

Helsing's hard eyes and composed blood coldly stared down at the creature, having been told by the parson that stopping up their ears would not repel a spell if one was being cast. But, as the desperate creature fought the chains and screeched, repetition spoiled the delusion of black magic so that the narrowed blue eyes sought out the bailiff, the two men making eye contact. Geoffrey saw his lord's thoughts and nodded in dour agreement, his face haggard with fatigue that accounted for more than lack of sleep. The quaking parson, however, and the stable master were looking at the boy as if he were the devil's incarnate or a witch in his service. Fat hands shook holy instruments at the yelling body on the floor, throwing powdered herbs and splashes of Holy ointment while brandishing a cross strung with parson's rosary. The prayers and Holy words that the man stammered did not seem to have any effect on the demon, frightening the poor parson until beseeching eyes gazed at Lord Helsing in dismay.

"I- I- I will- There must- Burn it!" He exclaimed with a sudden fever reddening his stark face, causing it to become blotched. "Burn the demon and cleanse this room, my Lord Helsing! Th- That- That will eradicate the evil! Fire-!" The man choked when the sword that had given him the courage to enter the chamber, was sheathed at Abraham's waist. The rosary swung around the cross when the man's hands waved at the sword. "Take it out! Oh, please take it out! It is needed, my Lord! It is still needed!"

Helsing shook his head, seeing the boy that quieted when the sword was put away. The kicking legs came together and the youth brought his knees to his chest. The shivers that had been disguised by his erratic movements were now visible. Panting from the parson and the boy occupied the air when no other sounds were made. Red and blue gazed into one another's depths, then Helsing closed his eyes and exhaled, lowering his head for a moment.

A sighing breath turned to the parson. "Father Humphrey… He is only a _foreigner_. He is no sorcerer or devil."

Bewildered by this news, and still unconvinced, the parson blanched, gawking with horror at the knight and then the demon boy. "He- He has cast a spell over your reason, my Lord Helsing! He-"

"-Has done no such thing. …You are mistaken just as we were, but now we are sure that the boy is not possessed or evil. Nay, Father Humphrey, you may go home and sleep. Your wits are strained."

Gibbon stared at Geoffrey, who had spoken, with strained admiration and amazement , dabbing at the sweat on his brow with his sleeve. Gibbon gave a weakened, but full, laugh, upsetting Father Humphrey whose lips trembled with the weight of protest, looking like a frustrated child who could not bring himself to rebel against his father. The parson's head dipped in defeat while buckling knees refused to still. The parson could not speak, so he was led home by the bemused stable master who did not look forward to the cramped journey on a single horse. Well, for that matter, the horse did not look forward to the journey either. It would rather pull a plow through a slab of granite than carry the fat parson and the muscled Gibbon to the village.

The two men that remained watched the now huddled and silent ragged figure, the bailiff grimacing to himself. "Sweet Jesu, sweet Jesu…my Lord. 'Tis bad luck for the boy to have a face like that. And a foreigner!" The man clucked his tongue in sympathy, seeing that the red eyes were now on him. His brows wrinkled with compassion and mild distaste. "Ay, my Lord, like any good Englishman I too bear scorn for foreign riffraff, but he is a boy…and he is scared and hungry and it'd be a nasty future that we would have over our heads if he escapes and learns to speak. Who knows what band of pirates he washed up with-"

"That's the least of our troubles concerning the lad, Geoffrey." Abraham sighed again at the red eyes...the frightened and stormy eyes that burned like two embers beneath the strands of charcoal hair hanging over the white face. "I did not wish to alarm all of the others, but he knows…our purpose here. Our secrets are no longer kept with us alone."

The aged man lost color, blood draining from his lined cheeks, and his dark blue eyes turned away from the boy and the chains to brood by the torch that was attached to the wall. "Jesu! Jesu!" He muttered under his breath, wandering away with drunken steps before he stopped with a heaving sigh. "Blessed Virgin-! …Nay." The man shook his head wistfully. "Nay. We cannot pray, can we, my Lord? No saint to help us. …We cannot let the boy live. We would all die! … -Kill him…I will…kill him for you, my Lord."

"He cannot speak, Geoffrey! My God!" Helsing shook his head in disbelief, looking at the older man and then being unable to look at him for shame. "It is the same as if he were a mute! How can he tell others our secrets? He cannot speak to tell! He is shackled here in my tower!" Helsing turned, his hand showing the curved stone walls around them to his anguished bailiff, and to himself. He was easing his own nerves as he spoke. "He is a foreigner! And he looks and speaks like one possessed or crazed! Geoffrey…" His voice became soothing and kinder blue eyes found the bailiff staring at him with kindling hope but much more weariness than ever before. "He can do nothing. We are safe. No danger awaits us at the morrow or the next day. We will keep him here. We will watch him, perhaps give him reason to fear telling others the secrets of this house. But we need not fret now. Not now when there is no threat in him besides his…uncivilized nature." A sort of smile was passed to the bailiff and then to the confused and unresponsive boy on the floor, still in rags and chains, fettered to the wall. This comforted Geoffrey and the man received some of the humor.

And so the night passed.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

He had married for the sake of expanding his father's holdings and doubling his father's wealth. But, in doing so, his duty to his family robbed him of his childhood, a childhood his father never saw to repay him for. At age nine, Abraham Helsing was wedded to Lady Agnes, who, widowed by a knight she had truly loved, bore only scorn for the little boy. Much to her disgust, the child was a year younger than her own son, William, and she had spotted the two playing with one another like normal children on several occasions. She resented the marriage, but, it being the Duke's will, had no other choice but to bow her head and say her vows and then ride with her child husband to the manor that had once belonged to her beloved. On horseback, Abraham had been superior to William and any other child his age, but the woman saw the malignant clumsiness that still infected his movements like an illness. On their way to her, now his, manor, the little boy's honest eyes, blue like the sky overhead, had looked up at her and he had drawn his horse close to hers. Lady Agnes had glanced at the child out of the corner of her eyes, seeing the daze that still gripped him when he looked upon the twenty-six year old woman who he now knew to be his wife, and saw her beautiful, yet doleful face. The young Helsing had swallowed, fraught with the intimidation that would haunt him for years, and licked his childish lips before speaking in the quiet, mild tone that most children have.

"Lady Agnes, as your husband I will pledge myself to your happiness. When I am old enough, I will go to war and win you honor so that you might be proud of your husband. And I will do all that I may to make you happy."

By the end of his speech, his cheeks had reddened like apples and his lips quivered with anticipation, waiting for her to look at him, even just a glance, instead of stare at the distance before them with her impassive auburn eyes. Dark curls had whipped in the wind while she had not yet looked at the importunate blue gaze. When their horses' sides had brushed one another by accident, her eyes had cut into the boy, pushing him into cowed submission instantly, scandalizing the servants that were accompanying them to serve and protect the newly wed couple on their journey. Her voice, which was known to be sweet and amiable with the bell-like chime that had persisted since her girlhood, had grated upon itself like crushed rocks and her pitch shook with abhorrence seen also in her twisted features. "Husband? _Husband?_ You are a _babe_! A child! How can I, who could so easily be your mother, see you as a **husband **_who _I must _**obey**_? And pride?" She had laughed snidely, frightening the boy so that he'd drawn his horse farther from hers. "Pride? How might I have pride for a little boy? You will _never _have _honor_! You will _never _have my _love_! It is in _chains _that I go with you, and it is as a _prisoner _that I am your _wife_! Let the devil take you, insolent little churl!"

"My Lady!"

By the time the others had stopped her, the boy had already been reduced to tears, never having received the brunt of so much hatred in all his life. He had been more than willing to go without the seeing Lady Agnes for the rest of his days, but each night they had been shut together in the same bedchamber, to sleep in the same bed. Abraham as a child had possessed no defense to oppose her crusade against him, and so resorted to silence until his kind nature prompted him to consol the woman again, one night, by telling her that he would strive to bring her happiness. She had rebutted him fiercely and he had bitten his lips to stave off his tears. In future nights, he had attempted to show her kindness until she lashed out at him on one occasion, slapping the boy's cheek.

Both, stunned by the violence, had stared at one another and then Lady Agnes had turned away and gone to sleep. Nights later, she struck him for no reason, and so it happened again and again, usually his ears, head, or chest. She would pinch him and pull his hair and hurt him in other ways until the boy began to fear her and beg to sleep in his own separate room.

When Abraham had been small, all of the servants had identified the lord of the manor, and Lady Agnes had ruled with a merciless fist. Time passed and Helsing grew older, but even at age twelve she was stronger than him, though they were becoming close to equals in that regard, but she was taller than him and had, through the years, twisted the boy into timid submission.

It was at this age that the boy had tried to run away; ignored by his parents and any other person he had ever asked for help, he had sought to save himself. Abraham had been easily retrieved and returned to his waiting Lady who flogged him like she would a disobedient servant, all in the private seclusion they shared together each night. The next day, a spiritless young master wandered his garden without being able to feel that he owned any of it. Anguish, more than pain, had brought tears to his face, and to hide them, Abraham had hidden himself in the garden to escape any watchful eyes. But, he was unable to seek the isolation he craved because he was found by a young man that had always served Abraham's father loyally and had come with the boy from his father's house. The crying Abraham met Geoffrey in that garden, though not for the first time, but it had been a meeting that allowed the two to truly begin to know one another.

Geoffrey from that day forward became Abraham's closest acquaintance, and it was Geoffrey that gave Abraham reassurance of his manhood and urged him to fix his qualms with Lady Agnes and put her in her proper place. The day that Abraham was able to take his wife and so determine their positions in their marriage arrived almost a year later, and there after, with the birth of Abraham's first son, Lady Agnes no longer controlled him but instead obeyed his wishes with cold aloofness. He was still kind to his wife and tried to show her affection, but she refused his feelings and gave all of the distant affection she might muster for him, to their children. Abraham gave his whole heart to the little Helsings they bred, and rode into war at fifteen to fight for their honor and pride, still offering what he earned to his wife.

The next change in his life came years later, when Abraham Helsing had been knighted and had already participated in many battles and tournaments where he had performed remarkably. When he was in his twenty-third year, his father, Sir Henry Helsing, for whom his first son had been named, passed away as a result of an illness, joining his wife who had died the year before. As his father's eldest son, Abraham inherited much wealth that he shared with his siblings, giving almost half to his younger brother. With his inheritance came the hunting lodge on the humble hill that was in need of a new bailiff, as the old one was expiring quickly.

Here lay before him nothing that seemed to own much potential. Helsing wished to find some man and send him off to fill the position so that he could serve his Duke without added troubles. Geoffrey convinced him to visit the hunting lodge to inspect it before making any decisions regarding its keeping. They found the lodge to be neglected, occupied by only three servants who were more often mingling with the serfs than attending their duties, and the old addle-brained bailiff that had been instated and forgotten many years ago as the lodge went without use, Henry Helsing having preferred books to hunting in his time.

In the relative solitude that they found themselves in, Geoffrey was responsible for serving his Lord as negligence and inability from the others left him alone with the duty while Lord Helsing's first squire had remained with Lady Agnes at that time. After readying his Lord for bed, the always loyal and good natured Geoffrey caught his Lord's mouth with a kiss that was far beyond friendly affection or the polite exchanges that had been made with men before to show loyalty or some form of camaraderie. Geoffrey's mouth had been hot, his lips parted, taking advantage of Abraham's mouth when it had opened in shock. In a state of confusion, Abraham had shoved his servant away and reached for his nearest blade, his knife which had been shed with his boots, and, as the stronger of the two, Abraham had soon pinned Geoffrey to the wall with the knife's sharpened blade pointed at the servant's throat. The familiar dark blue eyes had filled with dread, and forlorn passion had gazed acceptingly at his Lord as Abraham had glared at the older man, seeing his lips, his face, the love in his gaze, love that Abraham had never been able to find before. Abraham's heart had beat faster, his lips and mouth burned with fire Lady Agnes had never been able to inspire even when Abraham had been most aroused by her beauty. The taste of this man had inspired the building of heat in his stomach, a heat of passion and lust that before that moment had never been imagined. The knife had remained at Geoffrey's throat and the anger in Helsing's glare had not dropped, and so the servant Geoffrey had prepared himself for death when his Lord's scowling mouth emitted heavy, unsteady words that came out as pants.

"Geoffrey…you would do well…to kiss your Lord again, to repent for this transgression."

Awe from this order had struck Geoffrey dumb, and the words had forced Helsing's heart into his mouth while confusion and desire assaulted him. The knife then trembled in Abraham's grasp and the blue eyes were still creased in a glare, but Abraham had leaned forward so that his lips met with the pale one's of his servant. Dabbling with the Devil's will and wicked sin set Abraham's frame to shivering, the result of fear and insecurity that had diminished the effective front that he had tried to put forward with his glare and blade, and this told Geoffrey that his life was not in danger so that affection could flow from his heart and warm his face. The servant at that time had taken the knife away and tossed it to the floor before his hands had gently stroked his trembling Lord's golden hair and then cupped his face to steady his mouth for a kiss.

After that night, Geoffrey and Abraham had settled on their plan. Geoffrey was instated as the new bailiff, the old servants were dismissed, and Geoffrey was given the responsibility of finding new ones. The new bailiff, who had already been aware of a few candidates, selected a man named Gibbon who could take care of Lord Helsing's horses, should he choose to keep any at the smaller manor, and a boy named Wat who had left Holy service with the ability to read and write and some knowledge of medicinal remedies. More were unearthed with time and the gentle handling of the frightened individuals that came to find happiness in their newfound haven. After Abraham and Geoffrey and the arrival of Gibbon and Wat, seven more candidates were found and retrieved. A man three years younger than Abraham, with blonde hair and icy blue eyes, came to be housed in the manor next. This was Froissart, known to be as cold as his eyes and often jokingly called 'Frost`. The next had been Hugh, a large man who was like Gibbon in size and build, but had a withdrawn and gruff nature, unlike the easy going Gibbon who could be compared, even when he had aged, to a curious colt. Jack, the forth and final blonde to be had at the manor, arrived next. Then some time had passed before more were found, but the introductions of Pieter, Edgar, Phillip, and finally Sim, completed the household.

Couples had arisen through the years and growing attendance at the manor. After Geoffrey and Abraham, the next romance existed, for a few years, between Gibbon and Hugh. But time and additions gave way to change. Wat and Abraham became closer in the same way all the others became close to the knight. They each reserved a special place for Abraham in their hearts, finding him to be a very kind and caring Lord that gave them more freedom than they had ever expected to find in their lifetimes. Froissart and Jack were infamous for their cold personalities that seemed to thaw only for each other. Hugh, after Gibbon, settled with Edgar who was the smallest and the youngest along with Phillip. Phillip and Pieter were inseparable, best friends as well as close lovers. Sim, the last to arrive, shared the same affection as the rest with their beautiful Lord Helsing, and had some affection for Wat, but had yet to be involved in an identifiable relationship. There were no rules for courtship but there was little jealousy among the occupants of the manor, for in all, they had much love for one another in their state of content happiness within the haven Lord Helsing had given them. They were all cut from the same miserable background, for the most part, and were able to be sown closely together by bonds of friendship or love that made the humble hill the most peaceful hill in all of England.

However, the arrival of the demon boy who was not of the same cloth as the rest, brewed a dark cloud that hovered over their heads and threatened their peace.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

Abraham- age 36, height: 6'3"; muscular but lean, physically fit like a younger man, known for his kindness, generosity and wit, mild tempered. Golden blonde hair, sky-blue eyes.

Geoffrey- age 42, height: 5'9"; highest authority under Abraham, pragmatic, warm humor, fatherly figure, aged but not weak. Straw-like blonde/gray hair, dark blue eyes.

Gibbon- age 37, height: 6'1"; muscular more in the sense with bulky arms and upper body, used to manual labor, like a colt or horse, warmhearted, easy-going, laughs and smiles easily. Brown hair with blonde highlights from the sun, muddy brown eyes.

Froissart- age 33, height: 5'10"; 'Frost', removed nature, crisp in speech as well as action, makes and mends clothing and a little skill in cooking, rarely compliments or exhibits affection or interest, partner is Jack. Light blonde hair, fair skinned, icy or clear blue eyes.

Wat- age 31, height: 5'9"; distant, educated, bookish, translates poetry from French to English, compared to a hermit with his room and books and the translations and writing he does for Abraham. Black hair, grey eyes that easily pick up the color blue.

Jack- age 30, height: 5'8"; strong, stubborn personality, lean muscles like a young man, primarily cooks, speaks more than Froissart + a little warmer, loose jealousy of Abraham for Froissart, wishes he had Abraham's height, has a temper, partner is Froissart. Dark blonde hair, brown eyes.

Hugh- age 28, height: 6'0"; powerful body though thinner than Gibbon, gruff in manner and speech, clumsy with speech and has little social grace, hot tempered, current partner is Edgar though some affection for Gibbon. Chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes.

Sim- age 27, height: 5'7"; withdrawn, sharp tongued, defensive, somewhat shy, thin and pale and is often sickly during winter months. Black hair, black eyes.

Pieter- age 25, height: 5'8"; boyish, energetic, outgoing, amiable, laughs a lot, usually smiling, likes to tease, partner is Philip. Reddish-brown hair, brown eyes.

Philip- age 22, height: 5'6"; boyish, happy-go-lucky, laughs and smiles easily, playful and sometimes mischievous, follows Pieter's example, partner is Pieter. Brown hair, hazel eyes.

Edgar- age 22, height: 5'5"; sometimes cold, easily angered, fear of physical confrontation, somewhat controlling - tries to be, sometimes jealous of Gibbon for Hugh and everyone with regards to Hugh and Abraham, partner is Hugh. Black hair, greenish-blue eyes.

*'Demon Boy'- age 18-19, height: 5'4"-5'6" (estimated by Abraham); foreigner, 'uncivilized nature', thin, no more information at this point. Pitch black hair, perfectly white skin, red ruby or flame colored eyes. (observations by Abraham)

*~*~::..+..::~*~*


End file.
